


Playtime

by ZerosGirl01



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bondage, Delayed Orgasm, Freeform, M/M, PWP, Rimming, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZerosGirl01/pseuds/ZerosGirl01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're busy people with busy schedules, but that doesn't mean Volpe doesn't get to play with Niccolò.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plenoptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/gifts).



“I did not agree to that.”

“You did not _not_ agree to it.” Volpe grinned at his young lover, his excitement evident in his violet eyes.

 The thief thought Niccolò was going to either bolt from the room, or physically fight him for the silk in his hands, neither of which would happen. He had waited months for this opportunity and he would knock the young assassin out if he needed to. Luckily for the both of them, Niccolò just stood there and deadpanned, his expression betraying only his thinning patience.

Volpe wiggled his brows and waved the silk to and fro to which Niccolò only huffed and turned to walk from the room.

“Would you renege on our deal, amore mio?”

The assassin paused his steps and Volpe smirked, knowing he’d trapped the assassin, at least for a moment.

“We agreed that we could play tonight, but I did not specify how we would play.” Volpe moved behind Machiavelli, the younger man’s back stiffening at his proximity.

“Besides,” the thief flipped the strip of silk around his lover’s throat, caressing his neck and watching as the goose bumps blossomed on his skin, “we’ve been too busy of late to see one another outside of passing.”

“Volpe—“

“Shh, dear Niccolò.” Volpe brought their bodies flush, his mouth working at the skin just below the dark curls. “We have time, do we not?”

He planted small kisses along his young lover’s hairline until he reached his ear and felt the assassin shiver against him, “Play with me, tesoro.”

Niccolò arched into him, resting his head on the thief’s shoulder and reaching around and grasping his hips for stability. His groan resounded through the small room and Volpe kicked the door shut just in time.

He flicked the silk from Niccolò’s neck and snapped its end as he turned them both towards the bed pushed into the corner. The thief brought their lips together even as he walked them to his bed away from home, a chaste kiss at first until they toppled onto the sheets and the young assassin cried out in alarm.

Volpe took the chance and deepened their kiss, pushing his tongue inside and moaning when Niccolò reciprocated. The older man was content with their current position, grinding small motions every now and then, until the Niccolò’s teeth closed down on his lower lip and his hips jerked in response.

“God damn, Niccolò.” He moaned against his shoulder, mouthing the skin stretched taut over defined muscle.

“If I am damned, Gilberto,” Niccolò panted as he ran his hands up his lover’s sides, trailing the fabric of his tunic with them, languidly exposing the thief’s dark, scarred skin, “then you are most assuredly damned with me.”

The assassin propped his leg up on the bed and flipped their positions, rocking his groin against Volpe’s, their erections straining against one another. Niccolò leaned down and pecked his lover on the lips, his moans and sighs landing warm on the thief’s heated skin.

He roved his hands over the older man’s chest and abdomen, fingering the scars and massaging at his tense muscles, his hips grinding erotically against Volpe’s.

“Beautiful boy,” Volpe muttered as he brought his hands up, silk still clutched in his one, to worship the body atop him.

He grabbed at the tunic slipping up Niccolò’s body with each of his movements, tugged it up over his torso and over his head. The thief sat up, holding his lover’s body close and running his hands up and down his chest, over pert nipples, making the young assassin throw his head back and groan.

Volpe couldn’t take his eyes from the form of Niccolò flushed and panting on top of him, so he was surprised when he felt a soft hand cover his and slip the silk free from his grasp.

Their eyes met and Niccolò smirked at his lover. He dipped his head and kissed Volpe, tongues and teeth clashing. The older man undid his cape and pulled his own tunic up and over his dark hair, separating them for only a split second before their lips clashed again and he moaned into the kiss.

“Gilberto,” Niccolò murmured against his mouth.

“Hmm?” Volpe responded.

He heard more than felt Niccolò slid the smooth material around his neck and down his torso.

“Play with me.”

Volpe’s eyes snapped open and he gazed at the glimmer in his lover’s. The assassin’s face was blushing a brilliant crimson and there was uncertainty in his gaze, but their bodies couldn’t lie to one another.

A wide grin spread across his face as he brought their lips together once more, a small peck before he laid them down, Niccolò’s legs wrapped around his pelvis and his arms wound around his neck.

“This is what you want, Niccolò?” he asked when he pulled the silk from his grasp and wrapped it around the young Machiavelli’s wrists tugged taut above his head.

The younger man’s lips upturned at a slight angle and he nodded, “I will play with you, Volpe.” He said as he tightened his legs and forced their clothed erections together; he smirked when the thief gasped and closed his eyes.

“However,” he narrowed his eyes, and brought his hips up to meet with Volpe’s rocking, “you will stop if I tell you to, love.”

The thief nodded and bent to kiss his lover, “Apple” he murmured to Niccolò’s swollen mouth, “say apple when you wish for me to stop.”

Machiavelli couldn’t help but smile at the foolishness of the request, but he nodded nonetheless, “Play with me, Gilberto.”

Volpe smiled back and kissed his lover before he scrambled off the bed and knelt besides. Niccolò lie still, his hands still positioned above his head and tied together with the smooth silk. The fox popped up not too much later, more slips of silk and some leather strips in his hands.

The leather he positioned underneath the mattress, between the frame and the support layer. The silk he placed next to Niccolò and ducked underneath the bed once more. When Niccolò heard rattling, his eyes grew wide and he felt his heart jump in speed.

The thief pulled out small chains that Niccolò thought would look more appropriate in a torture chamber, but he kept his mouth closed and his trust firm in the older man.

Volpe kept to the floor, arranging the chains to the leather bases. When he was finished, he climbed back over Niccolò, the look in his eyes making the younger man want to tear from his makeshift bind and ravage his lover.

“Tell me if it hurts, amore mio.”

He clasped one of the chained cuffs around one of Niccolò’s hands and slid the silk free. The assassin tugged at the binding, wincing when it dug into the skin a touch too deeply, but unless he was sincerely attempting escape, it would not prove to be too uncomfortable.

Without awaiting a verbal confirmation, taking Niccolò’s silence and a small nod as the go ahead, he attached the other cuff and pulled his lover down the bed, away from the cuffs, stretching him.

The young assassin gasped and winced at the pressure on his wrists, but didn’t complain.

Volpe ran his hands up the younger man’s brown hose, massaging at his tense muscles. He dipped his head and ran his tongue along the inside of Niccolò’s thigh, holding his legs in place and forcing the man to arch against his mouth.

“Shit, Volpe.”

“Hmm, how is it, amore,” he hummed against the quivering warmth beneath his mouth, “being at my complete mercy?” He pulled at the hem of the hose, exposing small bits of skin. He followed the exposure with his mouth, kissing along the trail of dark hair below his naval.

One more tug and Niccolò’s erection stood proud, hot, and swollen.

“Ah, amore mio, you are so beautiful,” he whispered, drinking in the small sounds his lover was making above him, quiet curses and abandoned pleas for release.

Volpe took the assassin in one hand, palming his erection and rubbing his thumb across the slit. He smiled at Niccolò, arching off the bed and into his hand, his arms straining against their bindings and his head thrown back on the various pillows.

“Hnn, Gilberto—“

The thief ran his tongue along the underside of Niccolò’s dick, jerking him in his hand while pulling at his boots with his other and pulling the hose completely off after they were discarded.

The younger man shivered, his skin unusually hot and at war with the chill settled over the chamber.

He wouldn’t admit to the thrill of excitement that shot through him when Volpe stripped himself of his boots and pants as well and came up to straddle his legs.

The thief smirked at him and brought his hand to mouth; Niccolò watched, entranced, when Volpe slid two fingers past his lips and swirled his tongue around them. Then he slid his other hand down his front, whining as he passed over his pert nipples.

“Christ, Volpe,” Niccolò groaned when the fox took himself in hand and threw his head back, a pleasured groan falling from his lips.

He hummed and slid his fingers back to his mouth, licking at them, looking at his lover the entire time.

Sufficiently coated in his saliva, he popped them from his mouth and ducked his head back down to Niccolò’s straining cock. Without warning, he took all of his lover’s erection into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Machiavelli bucked his hips and fucked Volpe’s mouth unintentionally, the chains rattling when he jerked against them.

The thief hummed in satisfaction, sending the assassin’s hips rocking faster and faster until Volpe let him go and held at the base of his cock to keep him from coming.

“Gilberto,” he whined, his hips arching into his hand, seeking the release he could find there.

“Shh, not yet, tesoro.” He brought his fingers to his open mouth once more, coating them in another layer of saliva and precum.

Niccolò groaned at the debouched picture the fox made on top of him, cock in hand and his fingers in his mouth. He threw his head back when his erection was released and shouted out when cool silk glided against his base where Volpe’s hand had been replaced.

“Wha—shit!” he cursed when the silk was tightened.

“Dear Niccolò,” Volpe said as he slid his fingers from his mouth once more, “just a little longer.” He bent down and kissed his lover hard.

Volpe nipped and tugged at Machiavelli’s lips and groaned when he pushed his slick fingers past his own entrance and stretched the muscles there.

“I want to feel you inside me, Niccolò,” he whispered against his lips.

Volpe cried out and arched upwards when his fingers brushed his prostate. Niccolò pulled at his restraints, instinctively wanting to pleasure his lover, but only succeeded in digging them further into the skin on his wrists.

The thief dropped his head to his lover’s chest and pulled his fingers free. He kissed the young assassin’s chest, just above his furiously beating heart and shuffled back onto Niccolò’s lap.  


He pushed himself up over his lover’s straining erection and guided himself down. He bit his lower lip at the initial penetration pain, and grunted as the head slid past the puckered muscle.

“God,” Niccolò murmured when Volpe sat down fully, his ass resting on his lover’s hips, “you are tight.”

The thief choked on his laugh, his body relaxing at the release of energy, “We’ve been busy lately, haven’t we.”

Niccolò jerked his hips in response, “Too busy for pleasuring yourself, I see.”

Volpe groaned and smirked, leaning down to his lover’s ear, “I am free to,” he paused and lifted his hips and slid back down the assassin’s erection, “pleasure myself now, am I not.”

Niccolò turned his head to kiss the thief, but Volpe only chuckled and sat up, circling his hips and riding his lover at an agonizingly slow pace. He moaned as he arched back, his hands falling behind him next to the assassin’s calves. He brought his hips as high as they could, the head of Niccolò’s cock pulling at his entrance.

He lie there for a split second too long, Niccolò’s impatience skyrocketing at the sight of the thief flushed and riding his cock. He raised his knees and thrust his cock deep into Volpe’s ass.

“Ah!” Volpe cried out, his arms almost giving out, “Ni—Niccolò.”

The assassin growled, his pace quickening, hips pulling out and snapping back just as quickly. Volpe threw himself up and bounced in time with his lover’s thrusts.  


“Shit,” he moaned when Volpe tightened his muscles around the full length of cock, “I’m so close.”

He tried resuming their pace, but a wicked smile grew on the thief’s face and he slid off Niccolò completely.

Machiavelli cursed and dropped his head to the bed, “Fuck, Volpe.” His hips bucked at the air, desperate for friction, for release.

The fox glided off his lover and knelt between his thighs.

“Ah, amore,” he smirked his face bowed just above Niccolò’s swollen erection, “I do not want playtime to be over just yet.”

“Fuck.”

Volpe grabbed the back of his lover’s knees and brought them up over his shoulder. He hummed and smiled, wishing he could see the younger man’s face. He leaned in close, kneaded the flesh of his ass and tongued at the tight ring of muscle.

Niccolò cried out and his hips jerked, whether away or towards his mouth, Volpe couldn’t be sure, but by the colorful string of curses spilling from the assassin’s lips, he figured it wasn’t bad.

The young man whimpered, his head flooded only with thoughts of Volpe’s wicked mouth lapping at his entrance and—

“Fucking Christ!” He shouted his legs quivering and his back arching off the sheets again. Volpe’s tongue was hot and slick inside of him and he wished he could muffle these embarrassing sounds or smother them with that talented tongue.

He didn’t realize he’d clenched his eyes shut until they shot open when a finger slid next to Volpe’s tongue and he groaned at the stretch.

“Volpe,” he moaned when a second finger was added and he couldn’t take it anymore, “Gilberto, please!”

The thief lifted his head and locked eyes with the young assassin, moisture gathering at the corners of his pleasure clouded eyes.

“Please, Gilberto,” he whispered, “I need to come.”

Volpe broke contact and glanced at the leaking erection standing proud and swollen before him. He leaned forward and took Niccolò’s cock in his hand.

“Ah shit!” he fisted what sheets he could reach with his cuffed hands, “Gilberto, please let me come.”

“Soon, tesoro.” He said, hitching Niccolò’s legs over his shoulders once more, this time, lining his own cock and pushing into his lover’s tight body.

A choked cry escaped Machiavelli’s lips and he rocked against Volpe’s erection. The thief didn’t move for a minute, letting the assassin grind on his cock and watching the sweat slide down his lover’s brow and the droplets leak from his straining erection.

“Volpe,” Niccolò moaned, “move, damn it.”

“Who am I to turn from a partner in need?” he quipped, pulling his cock out just until his head stay within his lover’s body and pushing in at an angle, knowing from practice exactly where Niccolò’s prostate was placed.

“Fuck!” the assassin shouted as he pounded into him. His body moved in perfect tandem with Volpe’s as their pace increased.

“Are you close, tesoro?”

He was close, could feel the pleasure reaching its maxim and he pushed in short thrusts until he was coming and moaning out Niccolò’s name.

Volpe wrapped his hand around his young lover’s cock and released it from the silken tie and Niccolò cried out and arched upwards, coming hard over his abdomen and chest.

The room felt eerily silent without the creak from the bed and their combined shouting, but the sound of their breath filled the dead space with just enough comfort to not make it awkward. Volpe lay atop the young assassin’s chest, semen drying against both their skin, but the thief could not bring himself to care. Niccolò’s chest was raising and falling at a pace matching his own, but he could feel the young heart slowing.

The older man hummed, content to lie there for the remainder of the day and well into the evening, but he knew they both had duties to attend to within the hideout. He lifted his body on shaking arms and appraised the damage done on his lover’s body.

He reached up and unclasped the cuffs around his wrists, bring each to his lips and kissing them. They were rubbed and a little bruised, but there would not be any lasting damage. He lapped at the small abrasions where the bottom of the cuff had dug into the skin, small droplets of blood lapped up by his tongue in seconds.

He looked down and saw Niccolò watching him and smiled, he brought the assassin’s hands down from their position and cupped his lover’s cheek.

“Are you alright, Niccolò?” he stroked his thumb across a small streak of moisture trailing from dark eyes down to a small patch of discolored curls.

“My dick is feeling a little sensitive,” Volpe lurched upwards, realization dawning on him. Machiavelli hissed and slapped the side of the thief’s head.

“Sensitive, damn fox.”

The master thief had the discernment to look chastised and Niccolò didn’t buy one second of it.

“However, I do not think I’ve come so hard in my life.”

Volpe smirked at him, “All good things to those who wait, amore mio.”

Niccolò quirked an eyebrow and smacked him again for good measure, before pushing his smarmy ass off the bed and limping to the adjoined bathroom to clean up their mess.

 


End file.
